Anecdotes
by EHWIES
Summary: Seven flaws and insecurities from the dark side of Lily Potter.


**Anecdotes**

You almost kill your sister once. It's the time of autumn when the golden leaves fall crisp from the trees, when the breeze is faint but so _real_ that it could carry you to the highest clouds if only it caught you just right. You know it happened once, for a split second so many years ago, but that's only a vague recollection now, vague as the blurred edges of your memory's sight. On some days you try to fall into it, just to see if you'll be lucky enough to rest in it twice, but it never does happen again.

It's early evening, perhaps five o'clock, and you've been helping Mummy and Daddy rake leaves before the two of you start sparring with branches. Tuney is better than you at it, of course, with closer accuracy and more strength, and you're frustrated, want to win _just this once_ to have something to be proud of. You've just jumped to avoid a blow to the leg when you lose control of the branch, somehow, and you watch it in a sense of detachment as the suddenly razor-sharp edge jars closer and closer to Tuney's heart.

For a split second, you desperately hope she won't dash away in time, but the moment passes, and, horrified with your own insensitivity, you struggle to regain control and jerk it away. Time passes in slow motion while you stand frozen, then it's pointed at the floor, but there is a shallow scrape bleeding lightly across Tuney's chest, and you don't remember how either has happened.

You just stand in shock as Mummy scolds you and Daddy protests feebly, "But it's just a stick, dear… how could a stick have done that?" Tuney is pouting, yelling that it's _all your fault_, that you never should have suggested you spar in the first place, and so you join her blindly to jump in leaves.

It's nightfall before you speak again, whispering softly, over and over again, "But it was Tuney's idea…" until you break down into quiet sobs that wrack your small body. No one hears you.

-:-

At first, you never intend to forgive the Snape boy from Spinner's End when he calls you a witch. He's further frayed the slowly deteriorating relationship you have with Tuney, and you hate him for it almost as much as you hate yourself for starting it. You stand in the yard, dumbstruck with fury, until you calm yourself and sit down, twisting blades of grass in your fingers, breathing deeply. An unnaturally sharp blade lightly pricks your thumb, finally, and you leap to your feet, struck with a horrible déjà vu, staring in terrified fascination at the tiny bead of blood that had formed over the cut.

This, if anything, brings you fully to your senses, and you decide then and there that you have been remarkably rude to Severus and should apologize at once. So, sucking your thumb, you leave in the vague direction of his house and hope that Mummy and Daddy won't get worried.

It takes you at least twenty minutes longer than it should have to reach his house, due in part to getting lost twice—once in direction, once in your thoughts—and scraping your knee after a fall on the unforgiving path. The second sight of blood in one day is really starting to scare you, so you press your hand around your knee and suck hard on the wound. When the coppery taste has almost fully left your mouth, you pull back and see a traitor drop that has slipped out and dissolved against your wet thumb. You wipe it off, hoping all these injuries aren't making you crazy, and take off at a run for the fast approaching house, reaching it in record time.

You knock a few times, but though you hear voices from inside, no one answers. You consider leaving, thinking that an intrusion would be rude, but the growing need in you to apologize is stronger than your manners, so you try the knob—it's unlocked. Stepping inside, you only take a moment to register your surroundings before Severus is suddenly at your side, looking mortified.

"Don't tell me you were stupid enough to come here—" he starts but breaks off as fresh, furious shouts start up from a room somewhere toward the back of the house. You begin to speak nonsensically, a combination of profuse apologies and questions, but he cuts you off again: "Shut up, _shut up_, just follow me!"

So you follow as he leads you to his bedroom, a dark and depressing little room with bare walls and no personal touches. You move to speak again, but he interrupts, this time with a tone of concern: "What happened to your knee?"

"Scraped it," you say shakily. He disappears for a moment and returns with a few boxes of adhesive bandages, testing sizes. "Thanks," you add uncomfortably as he finds a fitting one and presses it gently to the wound with an almost maternal sense of caring.

"Don't mention it," Severus mutters, embarrassed, and pulls back. The disapproving frown has returned to his face. "So? What do you want?"

You blush at his intense glare and somehow mumble, "I'm, uh, sorry for being rude to you back at my house. I just—"

"Think I'm crazy?" You don't reply in his pause. "I would ask Mum to show you—she's a witch—but…" He breaks off, and you realize that the fight has died down somewhat.

"It's okay," you say quickly. "I'll just, uh, come back some other time." He nods dumbly at you, and you offer a tentative smile before leaving as quickly as you can.

You don't hurt yourself again on the way home. Mummy demands to know where you've been and what happened to your knee, but you can't find the words to explain either because _you didn't want to apologize_.

-:-

It's a while before Severus leaves your company, obviously reluctant to part from you, but he can't resist the opportunity to meet some of the older Slytherins, and you're really not in the mood after the spat with Tuney. It's over, all over, you think as you very reluctantly go back to your former compartment, and you've almost started crying again before you feel a hand on your shoulder.

You turn, half-expecting it to be Severus, because the touch is as gentle as how he bandaged your knee. But it's the boy from earlier, the one who was teasing you and Severus, and you're halfway through screaming at him to leave you alone when you convulse into sudden sobs.

His friends from earlier have left, so it's just the two of you, and you're shocked by his compassion as he draws you into a hug. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't even speak, just holds you and rubs your back and doesn't mind that you're struggling to get away even with your face buried in his sopping-wet shirt. You think you hear the compartment door slide open once or twice, but no one enters, probably thanks to the boy.

You don't want to thank him, not after what he did to Severus, but you can't muster anything mean to say after he's been so unconditionally supportive. So when you're finally able to compose yourself, you stay in his arms for a while, still shaking, not wanting to face the moment when you have to treat him kindly.

He seems to realize, because he lets you and still says nothing. The compartment door bangs open after what seems like eternity, and the two of you leap apart and try to pretend like nothing's happened, even though his shirt is still wet and your entire face has gone a puffy shade of pink. It's his friends again, but the boy glares at them with intentness the likes of which you've never seen before, and they act quite obviously like they don't notice a thing and chat animatedly, giving us as long as we need.

"Er," you start awkwardly, still reluctant to admit that he's not as horrible as you would have liked to believe, and you're grateful when he shushes you and ruffles your hair playfully.

"All right?" he asks you, and he sounds different than before, kind and understanding and not at all arrogant. You nod, and he gives you a reassuring smile before joining the other boys.

You never do forget that first sign of his better side but still make excuses for the way you couldn't say thank you because somewhere inside you, you're glad of it.

-:-

You see Sev slipping away into the soul of a different person even in first year but think nothing of it. You don't like his friends, but he still ignores them for you every chance he gets. You don't like his interest in the Dark Arts, but it's all right because he's better at Potions than you and partners you every class, even though Slughorn gives you the credit for his genius. You don't like his attitude toward James Potter and the other Gryffindor boys, but you've never told anyone what happened that day on the train, not ever, and besides—didn't James start it?

But you can't let it go when he calls Mary Macdonald a Mudblood, and you give him one fully spiteful gaze before tearing off in the direction of your common room. You huddle in an armchair by the fire for a while, brooding, until you're approached by Remus Lupin, who's looking paler than usual today and smiling sadly down at you.

"You okay, Lily?" he asks in a tone of concern and doesn't mind when you're hesitant to confide in him. "It's all right, I'm not like the others," he says with that sad smile, and you believe him because he's the only one in his group of friends who's never acted like an arrogant berk in front of anyone.

So you ask him if Sev thinks of you as a Mudblood, full of insecurity and self-doubt, and he tells you, "Honestly, no. I've seen the way he looks at you in Potions—maybe he thinks that of other Muggle-borns, but you're not just another Muggle-born to him."

"What difference does it make?" you ask, but you don't hear Remus's soothing explanation.

You realize later that night that you've accidentally taken Sev's Potions book and flip through it idly, your eyes falling on the page of spells he's written himself, the page he's spoken of to no one but you. He's only eleven, but you know he's been taught theory by his mum, so you glance at the list written "For Enemies" and know that if you use them, you'll _hurt _him. You bang through the portrait hole to find Sev there, hand raised to knock, and yell the first one you see on the page as your vision goes red.

There's a shallow gash on his cheek now, and you're horrified with the both of you, your self-loathing only increasing as you see Sev _smiling_ at you. "It's all right, I wrote the countercurse," he assures you and performs it on himself, but there's still a scar and it doesn't change the fact that you're still horribly afraid of blood.

You turn on your heel and go back through the portrait hole, your eyes falling on James, Sirius, and Peter—missing the fourth in their circle. You ask them all where Remus is curiously, but your eyes focus solely on James.

It's Sirius who answers—visiting his sick mother—and you wonder why there's bitterness in his voice.

-:-

Sev talks you into testing some of his spells on him the summer of your fourth year, saying he's sick of getting warning letters from the Ministry because he's been using so much magic, and you only comply because it pains you to know why he's covered in so many scars. He says there's just one left to test, though—_Sectusempra_—and, unwilling to hurt him any more, you use it on yourself instead.

Sev is shocked, says the effect should have been far more minor than that, and it doesn't take much for his parents to stop arguing and cart you off to St. Mungo's. You're pretty sure the Ministry doesn't contact you because of Mrs. Snape, and you're glad of it—but it doesn't ease your conscience that Sev comes to see you the next day with new bruises that weren't from his spells.

"But that's Dark Magic," you say, cursing yourself for sounding so weak. He doesn't answer.

You stop testing his spells after that and only use one that he created once more: _Sectusempra_ the second time he calls you Mudblood. It's sixth year, and you don't care that half the school is watching, don't care that Mary has an iron grip on your flailing arms as she struggles to yank you away from him, don't care that detention for the rest of the year taints your perfect record because you've used Dark Magic intentionally and _it feels good_. It feels better than good, actually, and so you're only half there when Sirius Black pulls you aside in the common room that night.

You begin to protest venomously—how dare he touch you, how dare he remind you that he's better than you give him credit for—but he's murmuring incoherently in your ear and pulling you up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and into his room. Peter is there, polishing his wand and studying for tomorrow's Defense Against the Dark Arts written test. "Out," says Sirius firmly, and Peter looks up, squeaks, and tears off.

Glaring, you turn to Sirius and try to wrench yourself out of his grasp, but you can't get away. "Leave me alone," you growl, eyes flashing dangerously.

Sirius just looks at you for a while, seeming more real to you now than ever before. "I thought you were different than them," he says finally and lets go.

But you don't move, don't break eye contact, for the longest time.

-:-

You don't regain control over yourself until early on in seventh year, at your first Heads meeting with James. You've been lashing out for the past year, hexing everyone who insults you or gets in your way or calls you Mudblood, Merlin forbid they call you Mudblood, because that's when you use Dark Magic and get sent to Dumbledore himself, but still it doesn't matter. None of it matters to you anymore.

You're sitting stock-still, wondering why in the world Dumbledore bothered making _you_ Head Girl when you've spent the past twelve months practically as bad as all of Slytherin combined, when James trails out of his suggestions for next month's prefect schedule. You're glad for a moment because he's practically been talking to himself, muttering every change he makes in real-time, but then he speaks to you directly. "Evans?"

"Bugger off, Potter," you snap irritably, clenching your fists around the armchair handles.

"Evans," he sighs wearily, and you're convinced for only a moment that he's going to give some sort of heroic speech on good and evil and your place and hate him in that moment for stereotyping you for the good, because good people don't use the Unforgivable Curses when they're at the end of their rope. He says instead, "Sirius ran away from home this summer."

You raise an incredulous eyebrow, but he goes on. "Says he was going to stay with his cousin Andromeda, but he can't stand risking being found by his family, I think. He doesn't buy into any of their sh—"

"Don't try to peg me as a good person through anecdotes, Potter," you interject shortly.

He isn't fazed. "You're falling for the appeal of Dark Magic. As revenge, maybe—"

"Potter," you say sarcastically (_not buying into it, not wanting to realize that it's true_), jabbing him in the chest, "what the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you? Why didn't you catch me?"

"Well, I might've if I'd actually seen you fall, Evans."

"Of course you didn't," you say without thinking, "it's not like I let anyone see me when I—"

That's when it hits you that you've completely detached yourself from reality. Your mouth falls open in shock. No wonder you've lost all your friends, no wonder people snicker when the Slytherins confront you now, no wonder—

You realize it's James who's been there for you, just as he was there for you that day on the Hogwarts Express.

You close your mouth, take a moment, and then say immediately, "Fine, Potter, I'll go out with you." He's shocked, about to ask what on _earth_ sparked your change of heart, but you silence him with the wave of a wand.

You first wonder wryly if he can save you from yourself, then realize it's a cliché. But you don't care because clichés don't at all seem overused when you live them.

-:-

You first meet Voldemort a year after Hogwarts graduation, at the Order of the Phoenix meeting James convinced you to attend. It was a sudden attack, Voldemort only arriving for moments at the end—but his only _Avada Kedavra_ is aimed purposefully for _you and James_, and you wonder if this is some sort of sick joke of Snape's as you yank James out of the way. He didn't notice at first, busy dueling Bellatrix Lestrange, and it scares you how close you both came to dying.

You don't remember how it ends or how you get out of there, but you do remember the expression on James's face when he realizes what you have saved him from. It's then that you realize it's _death_ you're playing with, and you tell him you'll join up straightaway.

Everyone is thrilled with your decision, particularly Dumbledore (_damn that twinkle in his eyes_), but you're really only doing it to convince yourself you'd never stoop to that level of evil. James sees that something's wrong but can't place the "what", and you're glad you're engaged to him and not Sirius because the latter, you know, would see right through you.

Two encounters later, that's why you're not scared when you choose Sirius as Secret-Keeper. He _knows_ you—he's not defending you based on a misconception. You've gotten lucky with Voldemort three times, and you're not sure how long you'll last if there's a fourth. But it doesn't matter because surely you're safe now.

Funny, though, that it was your Sev who betrayed you to the Dark Lord.

-

A/N: The following lines were taken with permission from Hermy189 and edited from their below state.

"_Potter," she said, jabbing him in the chest, "what the bloody hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you catch me?"_

"_Well, I might've if I'd actually seen you fall, Evans."_


End file.
